


Unexplainable Moments

by MelyndaR



Series: Carvis Week trilogy [1]
Category: Agent Carter (TV), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Carvis Week, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-06-06 04:34:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6738397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelyndaR/pseuds/MelyndaR
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*My submission for the first day of Carvis Week!* When Mrs. Jarvis dies at the end of "Monsters," Peggy understands what Mr. Jarvis is going through, so of course, as well as she can be, she's there to help him heal. But what exactly will that lead to between these self-proclaimed best friends?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts used in this chapter: firsts, injury, and gaze

He gazed up at her, his hand on her knee as he stitched up her wounds, as he very calmly, kindly, frankly, _rationally_ tore down her logic. And that was the first time they both felt it at the same time – a spark. A real _connection._ Something bright and dark, forbidden and welcomed, all at once. It was “just” a spark… but it was undeniably _there._

* * *

Daniel Sousa, Howard, and Mr. and Mrs. Jarvis packed up and moved to Los Angeles. Which was fine. It was _good_ , even – at least that’s what Peggy told herself. It gave her time to do a number of helpful things, really.

She learned how to work – how to _cooperate_ – with Chief Thompson, and, in so doing, they learned to respect one another more than ever before. She even reminded herself how to work – how to do and _enjoy_ doing – her job without having Mr. Jarvis behind the wheel of her main transportation and getaway car. It was like learning to walk again, or work without a limb, but she did it.

It was good. It was _nice_.

And she convinced herself of that just in time to be sent to LA.

Which was, in and of itself, not bad. She reconnected with Mr. Jarvis – _only as a partner in the work she did, of course_ – and met his wife, the lovely, _fantastic_ Ana, who had flames in her hair and sunlight in her eyes, and looked at Mr. Jarvis as if he was the best thing that had ever happened to her. _Mr. Jarvis looked at Ana the same way, though, and Peggy was happy for them, really she was._

Peggy herself was somehow swept up into a mess of romantic entanglements with not only Chief Sousa, but also Dr. Wilkes, and that was more than enough to distract her from the way that Mr. Jarvis still behaved like a better man towards her than either Daniel or Jason did. _It was, really._

And then the unthinkable happened.

Ana Jarvis was shot – _just as they drove into the drive, in time to see it happen, but not near enough to help; Peggy was going to have nightmares for a month, and goodness knew how terribly off Mr. Jarvis was going to be._

And the evening only got worse.

Peggy and Mr. Jarvis were sitting in the hospital waiting room, hand in hand – _it really_ was _only a gesture of comfort, something he desperately needed_ – when the surgeon stepped up to them.

 _Why was he here, and why did he have_ that _expression on his face; he should’ve been helping Mrs. Jarvis still._

“Sir… I’m sorry. You’re wife… we – we lost her on the operating table. There – there was nothing else we could do. I’m so sorry.”

Mr. Jarvis was so much taller than Peggy, and yet he curled into her like a lost child then. She held him as tightly as she could, closing her eyes so she didn’t have to see his tears.

The _sound_ of his sobbing became the soundtrack to her nightmares for two months.

* * *

Peggy took the next day off, just to stay with him. He was running errands left and right, insisting he was fine. She didn’t even have the heart to point out the lie. _Maybe it was kinder to let him lie to himself for the time being._

So she stayed by his side as he went around town, making arrangements for the funeral that was to take place the next day. In the car, as they drove from place to place, she kept slipping her hand into his, and she wasn’t even sure if he noticed, or if he was just ignoring the gesture, even as he tightly gripped her hand.

She didn’t mind either way, really – after all, they were both ignoring the stormy, empty look in his eyes.

* * *

That terrible emptiness stayed in his eyes for well over a full day; the first time she saw… _anything_ in those blue depths since the doctor’s pronouncement was at the funeral.

At that point, she couldn’t help keep a much sharper eye on him than she was on the proceedings. She was at the funeral for Mr. Jarvis, really, not his deceased wife.

_Mrs. Jarvis seemed to have been a kind, compassionate sort of woman; Peggy’s sure she wouldn’t mind._

As they lowered the casket into the ground – _why was it always so sunny in LA; didn’t the world have any respect for the dead?_ – Mr. Jarvis met Peggy’s gaze across the ornate box. For the first time she didn’t see emptiness in his expression; she saw something that was almost worse.

Overwhelming _grief_ had overtaken him in that moment, and, oddly enough, all Peggy could think of were the words _“I’m gonna have to put her in the water.”_

_So that was what that feeling looked like, to observe it from the outside._

She wasn’t sure how to say what she was thinking, nor was it the time or exact place for the words, so she could only hope that her gaze could portray what she was thinking. _I understand, and I’m so sorry that you have to go through this._

Peggy Carter did not cry, certainly not in public, but this was a funeral; that made it acceptable, didn’t it? So Peggy Carter cried – not for a dead woman, but for a man whom she was afraid just might be losing the will to live.

* * *

She stayed in Los Angeles for nearly three more months, trying to make a relationship work with Daniel Sousa and keeping an eye on Howard Stark’s butler – her partner in crime, one of her very best friends.

It didn’t take her long to realize that the relationship with Daniel wasn’t going to work… but, perhaps cruelly, she waited to tell the chief that. Her relationship with Daniel needed to end, Angie was begging her to come back to New York City, Chief Thompson still hadn’t stopped riding her case about the same thing – _“I need you to help me catch the guy who’s got your blasted file, Carter, the guy who blasted a hole_ through me _” –_ but she waited to leave LA.

Just _what_ she was waiting for, she wasn’t sure… until the morning she saw Mr. Jarvis smile again. He, she, and Howard were in Howard’s lab when the genius knocked over a test-tube. He’d thought it was a different tube that it contained a much more lethal substance than it actually did, and he screamed, sounding genuinely like a young girl. Peggy had shamelessly burst out laughing, and it had taken her a second to identify the timbre of a second person laughing behind her as well.

She wasn’t sure she had ever felt such a strange sort of relief as she did when she looked over her shoulder and saw him smiling… looking like the same old Mr. Jarvis, with a light in his eyes and everything.

Peggy packed up and went back to New York City three days later, at least mildly assured that Mr. Jarvis and Howard could provide the different sort of care for each other that was needed in their individual cases.

She did not hug, but when Mr. Jarvis dropped her off at the airport, she was very, very tempted to.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt used in this chapter: movies

Six months passed. Peggy kept in contact with them, of course she did; they were her friends, and she was still concerned with being sure that Mr. Jarvis was… on the mend, as it were. He was her best friend, of course she wanted that for him. There have been a constant stream of phone calls from her – because she rarely has the time to do anything more than chat in stolen moments; it’s New York City, and crazier in a different way than Los Angeles. There were a nearly equal number of letters coming from him – he was bored and had too much time on his hands, so he wrote her and expected her replies to come via the phone. It was a rather unequal and lopsided – _she felt_ truly _bad for that –_ correspondence, but it worked for them, and somehow, despite the distance, it felt like they were growing closer to one another than ever.

Then, one day, something happened that was unusual even for them. _He_ phoned _her_ – taking a chance that she wouldn’t be there to pick up, but that meant that it was something he wanted her to know immediately.

She hadn’t been home at the time, but Angie had been, and the waitress flew to Peggy at the door the moment she came home, demanding mysteriously, “Guess who called the house today?”

Looking into her friend’s dancing blue eyes, Peggy felt sure that wherever this was going, it was somewhere good, and she smiled as she asked, “Who?”

“Mr. Fancy!”

“You know his name now, you know,” Peggy pointed out. “But what on earth did he want?”

“He said that he and Mr. Stark are moving back to New York City within the next couple of weeks.”

Peggy’s eyebrows flew upward. “They are? Angie, that’s fantastic!”

And it was. It was no small secret that Mr. Jarvis still preferred New York to California, and Peggy was sure they would both be glad to see him back where he was so happy. It was also rather exciting to think that her friend – _both of her friends, Howard, too, of course_ – would be nearby again.

* * *

It was only a little over two weeks after the men had moved back east, though, that Howard warned Peggy that they were approaching a day that might well _not_ be a good one for the butler. The deceased Mrs. Jarvis’s birthday.

“He’s been getting so much better… almost completely okay, I think,” Howard said. “But the closer her birthday gets, the more… sulky…?”

“Introspective,” Peggy corrected. “I’ve noticed it too.”

“And I’m not really good at dealing with things like that… but I do have an idea.”

He looked at her a little apologetically, and, realizing that he was asking for her help in a roundabout way, Peggy nodded instantly, asking, “What’s this plan of yours?”

* * *

“I am _not going_ to some _moving picture premiere_!” Mr. Jarvis insisted.

“Not even for Howard?” Peggy asked. “He gave you two tickets; he expects at least you to go.”

“Especially not for Mr. Stark,” he said, and there was an edge of venom in his tone. “He set the premiere date for this evening, and then just _expects_ me to come when he knows full well what today is, and that I have no plans to go _anywhere_ this evening.”

“If you won’t go for Howard,” Peggy’s voice lowered a bit, becoming softer, even more serious. “Then come for _me_ – you could even come _with_ me. I… Howard and I are concerned for you, Mr. Jarvis.”

His shoulders hunched over the silver set that he had been fiercely scrubbing rather than properly polishing, and he planted his palms on the table, sighing. “I’m _fine_ , Miss Carter. I’ve been faring much better since the last time you saw me, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes,” she agreed instantly before adding, “Every day but today.”

“Then is a man not allowed _one day_ of grief?”

Peggy paused before asking, almost at a whisper, “Is that what Ana would want? Would she want you to stay at home and bottle up all of these thoughts, maybe even crying? Or would she want you to go out for a night on the town with a friend and _live_?”

He glanced sharply up at her, demanding, “Don’t bring her into this.”

“This entire thing is about her!”

He took a deep breath, staring back down at the tabletop for a long moment before he acquiesced, “Very well, I’ll go with you.”

* * *

Peggy was waiting by her door at 6:28 with Angie at her side, looking thoroughly amused by the way the evening had proceeded so far. Peggy had taken far longer than she would ever admit to choose an outfit for this evening. _”It’s not a date, not really, but Howard has made this out to be an **occasion** , so I need to dress nicely; Angie, what do you think of this? Is it too much or not enough? I don’t want Mr. Jarvis to get the wrong idea…”_

At 6:30 on the dot, Mr. Jarvis rang the doorbell.

“Hm,” Angie hummed approvingly. “Mr. Fancy’s punctual.”

“You knew that already, and it’s not a date, Angie; kindly wipe that expression off your face. I’m just trying to help a friend.”

Angie raised an eyebrow skeptically, stepping back as Peggy went to answer the door. “M-hm. We’ll see; you kids have fun now!”

But one glance at Mr. Jarvis told Peggy that he was still not in the mood to “have fun,” now or anytime soon. He was polite – perhaps even more so than usual, opening her car door and helping her in – but he was also more quiet than usual. Reserved.

He felt coerced, then.

 Peggy frowned, stifling a sigh – _she had sincerely hoped he had changed his mind… or perhaps his “attitude” was the better word, in the hours since they’d last talked._ It didn’t look like she was going to have any such luck right off of the bat. _Oh well, the evening is just beginning,_ she reminded herself firmly.

But even as the hours progressed, it didn’t seem to be improving. Always, he was polite, always he was quiet – nearly stoic. Not even Howard’s movie – the last one he’d made in LA, a comedic drama – had managed to coax anything more than the smallest of smiles from Mr. Jarvis.

They left the movie theater a little before ten, his hand light and steady on her back so that they could keep track of one another in the throngs of people who were also exiting the theater.

“Home, then?” he asked her when they were back at the car, as he held the passenger-side door open for her.

She couldn’t quite miss the undercurrent of hopefulness in his tone, and it was honestly discouraging. She stopped, the car door separating them as she looked up into his face, shadowed as it was by the brim of his hat, and said, gently imploring, “Mr. Jarvis, I _am_ trying to help.”

His shoulders dropped like they had this afternoon, and he appeared to stifle a sigh before he replied, “I know, and I’m grateful, truly. The movie, this… it did help… it’s just that today is… bad timing for frivolity, I suppose.”

She nodded, her gaze at first understanding, but then a little more thoughtful as she asked after a moment, “Mr. Jarvis, would you mind going for a drink or two?”

“Why?” he asked, one eyebrow ticking upward. _But at least he didn’t sound despairing at the idea._

“Because you’re right, _and_ I’m right. Today is a day that you need someone to care – and don’t tell me you don’t; I’ve been rather close to where you are. So for two hours – until midnight, until this terrible day is done – you and I are going to go drinking.”

“Miss Carter…” he said slowly, managing to make even her name convey how skeptical he felt.

Smiling resolutely at him, she slipped into the car and stared up at him, saying pertly, “Let’s go.”

He shut her car door and got in on his side without another word. Thirty minutes later, they were each on their second drink at a bar down the street.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompts used in this chapter: gaze and firsts (because I just had to do a first kiss with a prompt like that!)

“Miss Carter,” he pointed out, as if he’d somehow just thought of something. “One of us needs to abstain from alcohol regardless. Someone has to drive home.”

“It’s not that far; we can leave ‘a sock on the doorknob’ in the car and walk home.” Peggy pressed his drink back into his hand; he stared at her in silence for a beat, and then drained the glass to it’s very last drop.

They were walking towards Peggy and Angie’s house, more drunk than tipsy, when the clock tolled midnight. “Look at that, Mr. Jarvis,” Peggy said, swaying into him slightly as they walked. “We made it. The day’s over. It’s a brand new day.” She stopped on the sidewalk in front of him, and he wrapped his arms rather clumsily around her rather than trip over her. Cocking her head to the side, she asked curiously, “What are you going to do today, in a new day?”

He sighed, rolling his eyes a little dismissively. “Make Mr. Stark’s breakfast and mine, do laundry…” he frowned a little crookedly, adding, “I should go through Ana’s things that were left here in the city. It’s time.”

“Time for what?” He put her hand in the crook of his elbow, and they began to walk forward again. He didn’t answer. So she tugged him to a stop underneath the glow of a streetlamp – _she wanted to see his face, see if she could tell what he was thinking_ – repeating, “What’s it time for?”

He ran his tongue over his teeth, looking away from her with a dry chuckle, then back again as he replied, “It’s time for me to move on – from Ana’s death, I mean.”

Her eyes narrowed as she stumbled through the calculation in her head before she pointed out, “It’s only been ten months; you don’t have to ‘move on’ yet – just don’t get stuck thinking about nothing else.”

“I’m not stuck, and I am moving on…” he said slowly, as if he were sorting through thoughts that had been stuck in his head for Peggy didn’t know how long. It struck her that he probably wasn’t _as_ affected by the alcohol in his system as she was by all that she’d drunk. “I’ve been doing so slowly, and that’s worked well. But… after tonight… I think it’s time for me to start thinking about moving on in a different, bigger, way.”

 _Relationships_. _He was talking about finding someone to love again. Why did that thought suddenly make her sad? She should be happy – for her friend!_

“Why does _tonight_ make you think that?” she asked, unable to put those pieces together in her foggy mind.

He was silent again, searching her face in the lamplight – _no, not her face proper. Why did his gaze keep returning to her mouth?_ She saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, then he gently tried to pull her forward again, saying, “We should get you home.”

_Oh!_

Moving on sheer, drunken instinct and a wild surge of hope, she dug in her heels, grabbed his lapels to drag him down to her height, and kissed him. She didn’t let go for a long moment, half afraid that he would bolt the moment she did, but… air was an unfortunate necessity.

She was just sober enough to remember to think, _and really, we shouldn’t make a scene in the street._

So she let go of his suit. But at some point while they kissed his arms had wound around her waist once again, and _he_ didn’t let go of _her_ just yet, his forehead resting against hers. So she scraped up some liquid courage and told him, “I don’t know what I would do without you. I love you. I love you, and it’s going to ruin everything, but I love you. I’m not at all happy your wife died, and I think she’d be very proud that you are doing so well and went to this movie, but I love you, and if… when… if you’ll let me, when you’re ready, I’m here, because I love you.”

He smiled at her, and it was a halfway sad little gesture as he said softly, “In the morning, you’re going to regret everything that you just said.”

“But it’s true!” she insisted. “I’m sorry, and I’m terrible, but it’s true. I love you, Edwin Jarvis.”

“And I love you.” Like a bird that freed from a cage where it had been imprisoned for too long, the words flew from his mouth as if they were a relief to say. “I love you too. But this…” Biting his lip, he shook his head, his eyes glittering with emotions and a little bleary from alcohol as he carefully released his hold on her. “This is not at all how this needs to happen. This isn’t even _right_ , is it?”

“It’s…” her words stumbled as she felt her control of the situation slip away.

“No, listen,” he interrupted kindly. His wedding ring glinted in the lamplight as he cupped her cheek. Only then did it strike her what it could mean, that he still wore that golden band. “We can talk about this again; we should… I think. But not while we’re drunk. _That_ makes this not right.”

“But I’m not drunk.”

“But you’re not sober.”

She sighed at the persistent kindness in his voice, his tone somehow colored at the same time with worry and amusement, and put her hand back in the crook of his arm, ready to walk onward. “Fine,” she agreed, knowing he was right even if she didn’t like the idea.

She knew herself; knew there was no way she was going to want to talk about this in the morning once she was sober. But he was right, so they made their way home, a somehow still-comfortable silence between them, her head resting on his arm while they held hands most of the walk.

He kissed her cheek once they were standing on her stoop, and whispered into her ear like it was some great secret, “I didn’t go to the movie for _Ana’s_ sake, Miss Carter.”

 


End file.
